


And Flightless Angels Sing Thee to Thy Rest

by monicawoe



Series: Theosis [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Dean Winchester, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Evil Sam Winchester, Gen, Mutilation, Sam 'Boy King of Hell' Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:19:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monicawoe/pseuds/monicawoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And now...after a three year hiatus: a timestamp for Theosis<br/>You're certainly welcome to read this as a standalone, especially if you're not curious how and why Sam took his throne and just want to see him rule. But be warned- he's not in a very good mood.</p><p> </p><p>*featuring art by <a href="http://quickreaver.livejournal.com/7424.html">quickreaver</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	And Flightless Angels Sing Thee to Thy Rest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amberdreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amberdreams/gifts), [quickreaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quickreaver/gifts), [Balder12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balder12/gifts).



  
Sam runs his fingers over the curve of the angel-wing bone resting in his lap. It's been picked clean, the feathers repurposed to provide a soft blanket for Dean to sleep on. Hell's throne—larger again since Sam stormed heaven—now has tiers, a level below Sam's seat with a nice wide surface for Dean and his bed on the right, and a matching platform on the left where Sam's been stacking the cleaned bones. He's going to make something out of them, he's just not sure what yet. Maybe a chandelier to replace his broken aquarium, or maybe a set of cutlery.

Dean snores softly, and Sam turns to watch his brother's even breathing. He's never slept as peacefully or as long, and Sam's determined to make sure he gets to enjoy that for however long he likes. The doors to the throne room are closed and not a single demon has attempted to enter since he turned the last one that tried into a door knocker. Sam's focus drifts again to the broken aquarium—the cage that used to house Michael and Lucifer and sends a trickle of power into the structure, disintegrating it until all that remains is a large hook, waiting for a new piece of art. The pile of wing-bones to Sam's left begins to move as he wills them into a cohesive whole. Coracoids and ulnae weave together forming a globe and Sam feels a trill of pleasure as he floats it to the ceiling and hangs the new cage from its hook. _Now I just need a bird,_ he thinks.

For the first time in days, Dean stirs in his sleep, drawing Sam's attention. The well of power inside of Dean shifts right along with him, and settles back down as he sinks back into a deeper sleep. Heaven's power-core, safely inside of his brother. The thought makes Sam smile, not just because the angels had it coming, but because once Dean figures out how to tap into it he'll be untouchable. Just like Sam.

With a flicker of power, Sam reinforces the protective barrier around Dean, making sure he won't be disturbed.

There's a demon standing just outside. It hasn't so much as touched the door to the throne room, but Sam can sense it anyway, can smell its fear trickling into the living walls. They're right to fear him, of course, not even Lucifer was as powerful as Sam is, and he has even less of a reason to keep them alive.

"What?" Sam asks as he pulls the demon through the wall and drops him at the foot of the throne. There are no vessels in Sam's kingdom, and the demon's true form is a sad thing, all withered flesh and spindly limbs with eyes that widen until they're literally larger than its mouth.

The demon prostrates itself, forehead to the ground and makes a frightened whimper.

"Out with it," Sam says.

The demon lifts his head just enough to stare at the base of Sam's throne. "Apologies my lord," it says as it brings itself up to a kneeling position, arms trembling. It's clutching a handful of feathers in its right hand.

Sam's mouth curves. "Castiel?"

The demon nods rapidly, large eyes clenched shut. "None of the angels can get past our defenses, sire, though not for lack of trying."

"Of course they can't." Sam leans back in his throne, satisfied. The angels can't even make a dent, weakened as they are.

"But this one—he won't leave. He insists he's a friend of yours and—" its huge eyes flick up the platform at Sam's right hand. "—and a friend of your brother's."

"Friend? Is that a fact?" Sam snaps his fingers, pulling Castiel through all nine circles of Hell. He lands heavily on his side, just feet away from the demon, who scrambles to its feet.

"Go," Sam tells the demon, whose face fills with relief a half-second before it vanishes again. The angel feathers flutter to the floor in its wake.

Castiel looks just like his human vessel and Sam pushes at him with his mind, curious if that's because angels are still exempt from Sam's will or if it's something else.

"That isn't a vessel anymore is it?" Sam asks.

Castiel blinks up at Sam and then stares up to where Dean is sleeping. " Dean—"

"I asked you a question," Sam says, his voice low in warning.

"My—no. I was—" he swallows. "My vessel was destroyed . But I was remade."

Sam's smiling again. "Do you know who remade you?"

"I believe it was God," Castiel says.

"Of course you do." Sam stands and makes his way down the stairs leading to his throne. He doesn't miss the way the angel stumbles back a few steps at his approach. "But you're still hiding what you are." He clucks his tongue. "That's against the rules, here."

"Your rules, Sam. You are not my king."

"No, but you're in my home. Without invitation, for the second time. The least you could do is respect my laws."

"I am not beholden to your laws."

Sam arches an eyebrow. "Let's test that theory." He takes a deep breath and the throne room fills with the blackness of billions of Hell-souls all gathering around him as he pulls them through the walls and into himself. His power feeds on them, and on the blood of angels he drank down in Heaven. Thrumming energy in his veins, he focuses on Castiel, on what's underneath that costume of human skin. "Show yourself, angel."

\------------

The sheer force of Sam's command takes Castiel by surprise. He steels himself, tries to push back but loses ground quickly. He can barely see through the darkened air, thick with souls, all of them flowing towards Sam, who's growing exponentially stronger with every passing second.

Castiel can feel his true form start to spill through his human skin. Light streams through his eyes, pain arcs through his spine, branching out, squirming under his shoulder blades until the skin bursts wide open and he cries out in pain, despite himself. He falls to his knees as his wings are forcefully pulled out through the skin. Power tugs at them, forcing the wing bones to unfold, extending them to their full size. Castiel can feel his whole body stretching, skin being pulled impossibly thin as it tries to accommodate him. His clothing is tattered where the wings burst through but otherwise still miraculously intact. His true form is a hundred times the size of a human but when he finally recovers enough to look up at Sam, he doesn't feel a single inch taller.

Sam is enormous. The souls of Hell and what used to be Purgatory hang from his back, woven together in some grotesque mimicry of wings. Unfurled, they span the entirety of the room, shrouding it in darkness. The bone white throne glows brightly, outshone only by the brilliance of Sam's eyes.

"That's better," Sam says, and there's no warmth in that voice. Not a shred of compassion from the man once willing to sacrifice himself to save the world, who overcame Lucifer through the unbreakable bond with his brother. The same brother Castiel is here to talk to. It's his only chance.

Castiel looks down at the angel feathers on the floor and sees some of his own amidst the ones he gave the demon to bring to Sam. He can recognize his brethren by their patterns—the colors and shapes as unique as fingerprints on humans.

"Did you come to claim your weapons?" Sam asks.

His shoulders burn when Castiel turns his head back to Sam,"I'm not here for the weapons. Without their power source, the weapons are useless." He struggles to his feet again, wings dripping blood onto the floor of the throne room. "I'm here for Dean."

The throne room shifts color from bone-white to a deep golden amber, mirroring the displeasure in Sam's eyes. "Dean's resting."

"He has the power of Heaven inside of him. Without it, Heaven cannot stand."

"I don't see a problem."

"The angels that remain— we are trying to hold the fabric of Heaven together, but we're not strong enough. We need Dean."

"No."

"If Heaven falls, all the souls there will be cast out. Souls you love. And billions of innocents, all of them will be torn out of their eternities."

"Where will they go?" Sam asks, as the room slowly lightens again.

"I don't know. This isn't something that's ever happened before. I suppose they'll drift— maybe back to Earth as spirits."

"Or maybe they'll sink all the way down to the next available afterlife." Sam grins. "I've got plenty of vacancies."

"No. They do not deserve Hell. These are innocents."

"And I'll give them appropriate accommodations. Hell's a big place. And we have all kinds of rooms." There's a undertone in Sam's voice that sounds like a promise and a threat all rolled into one.

Swallowing down his fear, Castiel takes another step closer to Sam. "Please, listen to reason here. Let me see Dean." He searches Sam's eyes for some gleam of understanding. There's still a human soul buried somewhere inside all that power, a soul he used to consider a friend.

Sam nods, like he's reached a decision. "I need assurance you won't fly off with him."

"You have my word."

"After all the times you've lied to us, after what you tried to do in the Garden? No. That's not good enough. You need to win back my trust."

Castiel pales as the request sinks in. He looks down to his right hand and slides his sword out of his sleeve. Grasping it in his hand he reaches back over his shoulder with his left hand and grabs hold of his right wing. The blade sparks blue and white as it cuts through feather, flesh and bone and his screams echo off the cavernous throne room walls. He lets the wing fall, still smoldering, to the floor and staggers back. "Do you trust me now?"

Sam steps closer, and picks up the severed wing, stroking his fingers over the feathered edge. He runs his hand further down to the jagged, bloodied stump of bone at the end, and collects the still-dripping grace in his palm before bringing his hand back to his mouth.

Castiel switches the dripping blade from one hand to the other and reaches for his left wing.

"That's enough," Sam says, smiling at him with light-stained teeth. He takes a step back, gesturing at the stairs leading up to his throne. "You can state your case to Dean."

Hesitantly, Castiel begins to climb the carved steps, expecting them to crumble under his feet at any moment. They don't crumble exactly but they shift, repositioning themselves so they end at the platform on which Dean is sleeping.

Sam sits in his throne, watching Castiel from above, expression unreadable.

Three steps from Dean's platform, Castiel feels a tickle by his brow. He reaches up, scratching the itch absently, but it only grows worse. Another step and the corners of his eyes are burning. His vision tunnels and then disappears completely and he trips over the next step, catching himself with his hands. When he brings his fingers back up to his face there's nothing but smooth skin where his eyes used to be.

An all too familiar feeling of terror fills his heart. "Sam, what is the meaning of this?"

"What did I tell you in the Garden? Do you remember?"

"That you killed my brethren," Castiel spits out, anger replacing his fear. "That you owed me thirty-seven weapons."

"And?"

"And that if we were ever to meet again..." Castiel feels his way up onto the platform, his fingers brushing feathers. "...you'd be the last thing I'd ever see."

"Exactly." Sam's voice is an impossibly loud whisper. "And I always keep my word."

"This is sadistic. You're better than this."

"No, I'm not. I'm so much worse. If we didn't have history—" Sam laughs softly. "I can still smell your blood, you know, and angel blood...it's my favorite."

Castiel pushes on, climbing further onto the platform. There's something incredibly soft beneath him—silk maybe, padded with more feathers and his stomach turns at the thought of how many angels Sam killed. More of them go missing every day, and no matter how far the Host searches they come up empty-handed.

"It tastes like light and righteousness and eons of knowledge. Demons don't know a damn thing, but you—drinking your kind down is like swallowing the Word."

Though he can no longer see, Castiel can still feel the cloying touch of Sam's power—permeating the air. Here, this close to his throne, it's painful. It demands abasement and worship and it's all Castiel can do to keep his head raised. He crawls forward another foot and another and bumps against what feels like solidified air.

"Dean?" he asks. "Are you here?"

There's no answer from the other side of the forcefield.

Castiel turns towards the heat of Sam's power and says. "How do I know he can hear me?"

"You don't," Sam says. He doesn't offer further explanation, but the slight push of invisible fingers into the wounds on Castiel's back tells the angel all he needs to know.

"Dean, if you can hear me, I— we need your help. The lake, the power inside of you. Heaven can't go on without it. Please help us. There are souls you care about and I'm doing my best to keep them safe, but—"

Sam scoffs. "Oh please. Now you care about the souls?"

Ignoring him, Castiel pushes on. "Please help us." He pounds his hand against the air, hoping for some kind of acknowledgement and the wounds in his back ache anew as Sam digs his power in deeper.

Castiel can feel Sam moving closer, that terrible heat growing stronger until it burns. Despair fills his every remaining cell as he tries to reach Dean one last time. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Well said. Very moving." Sam's power is scalding now, closer than before, and Castiel imagines he's standing right next to him, or maybe the throne has moved. His grace is being pulled out of him, consumed by Sam's endless hunger, and he barely has the energy left to speak. "Will you send me back now? Without both my wings, I don't think I can—"

"I'll take you home," Sam says.

There's a sound of fingers snapping, loud enough to shake the air around him as Castiel is pulled through empty space. His feet settle on an uneven surface and he sticks out his hands reflexively. His fingers catch on bars—no, bones. Panic rising in his throat, Castiel feels up and down and finds himself enclosed on all sides in a cage made of bare wings. "Sam!" he screams.

"Sh," Sam says, a deafening whisper that brushes across Castiel's skin like frost.

When Castiel tries to scream again, there's no sound at all.

\------------

One by one, Sam plucks the feathers from Castiel's wing and lets them drift gently down to Dean. There's no need for the forcefield anymore now that he's muzzled and caged his bird.

"Dean," Sam says, dropping the last of Castiel's feathers. It lands on Dean's cheek, making his nose twitch. It's such a human gesture, and as Sam looks down at his brother, still resting peacefully, he feels a tiny pang of regret. Part of him wants to let Dean rest forever. He's earned it after all.

But they have so much left to do, and there has never been a more perfect moment to start.

"Time to wake up."


End file.
